


pace is the trick

by flimsy



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, tourfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He rocks back onto his heels and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black made-to-look worn seven-hundred dollar jeans - he’s casual today - and purses his lips, watching Tommy zip up his guitar case. He has a hole in his hoodie, right where arm meets shoulder and Adam can see his white T-shirt peeking through. It makes him want to hook a finger in it and pull Tommy up to kiss the back of his neck. But it’s not two years ago and they’re not on stage anymore. Adam has few choices left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pace is the trick

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat AU with a background of current events. Mostly an excuse for porn.

Adam knows he’s probably two years late with this question and that he may or may not be making a fool of himself right about now, but he can’t help it because he’s got Tommy here with him again and only for the next couple of days, too. He rocks back onto his heels and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black made-to-look worn seven-hundred dollar jeans - he’s casual today - and purses his lips, watching Tommy zip up his guitar case. He has a hole in his hoodie, right where arm meets shoulder and Adam can see his white T-shirt peeking through. It makes him want to hook a finger in it and pull Tommy up to kiss the back of his nape. But it’s not two years ago and they’re not on stage anymore. Adam has little choices left. 

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he says when Tommy straightens up and turns, flinging his guitar case over his shoulder, pushing his ridiculous sunglasses up his nose. 

“What, yeah, sure,” Tommy says and starts walking towards down the hall towards the exit of the venue. Adam follows, frustrated. 

“I mean that in the go-out-on-a-date-with-me-way,” Adam elaborates and scurries past him, long legs giving him an unfair advantage. He pushes the door open for Tommy and lets him step outside, lets him process what he just said. Something goes wrong inside Tommy’s head apparently, because he barks out a short laugh and turns around to give Adam a sly, fuck-you-too smile. 

“Come on, dude,” he says, pushing back his hair. “But yeah, I haven’t had Taco Bell in a while. That’d be awesome.” 

“Honestly.” Adam catches up with him again, matching their strides. “I mean it. Go on a date with me, Tommy Joe.” He rolls Tommy’s second name on his tongue, lets the consonants sit there for a while and enjoys their taste; he loves saying Tommy’s full name mostly because he’s the only one who gets away with it. 

Tommy falters a little and then speeds up again, lips tightening for a second. “Why?” 

“Because,” Adam says. “Because I want you to. Because I think it’d be nice.” He swallows tightly, waiting, suddenly nervous. This is all went so much better in his head. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything, so Adam simply blathers on, unable to stop himself. “I mean, you’re hot, I’m hot. And we’ve had this spark from the beginning, haven’t we? Don’t get me wrong, we’re great friends and I _love_ you as a friend, but I don’t want any regrets in fifty years when people ask me about missed chances.” He does manage to cut himself off there because two girls come running towards them, waving and wanting autographs. 

He signs his own picture and chats with them, gives them his most charming smile, and watches Tommy stumble through questions, hidden behind his sunglasses. It makes something inside of him tug; he wants to reach out and wrap his arm around his shoulder and stir him away. 

By the time they’re alone in the car - small limousine, compartmented - to the hotel, Adam has given up any hope of ever getting an answer. He’s pretty certain Tommy’s either suppressed all memories of their conversation - he’s surprisingly good at that, despite being a Libra - or has simply decided that the argument is not worth it. 

Two blocks on, Tommy clears his throat and finally says, “The dating thing. I really don’t think it’s we should now.” 

Adam feels like he’s just been kicked in the guts and grits his teeth. Still, he manages to counter, voice smooth, “How so?” 

“I don’t know, I mean, it’s weird, you’ve had your hand down my crotch already.” Tommy laughs a little and turns to look out the window, his fringe hiding his face entirely. “We’re kinda past the dating.” 

Adam isn’t sure how to interpret that. It could mean so many things, and probably Tommy knows that too. He taps his fingers against the upholstery of the seat and licks his lips. Tommy could be saying “We can just skip to the naughty stuff” or “Been there, done that with you on stage, not really my thing”. 

Adam decides to drop it until he knows what the fuck is going on. It’s not a good idea to go into battle not knowing if there’s actually going to be a fight. 

 

*

 

When Adam comes back from his afternoon interview, Tommy is sprawled in Adam’s suit like he owns the whole damn hotel, boots on the table and emptied minibar and all. He’s watching old episodes of Buffy - fucking hell, the nineties were terrifying - and drinking Corona. 

Adam knows he invited him in and offered up his room and his food and his TV, but he’s tired from two hours of makeup and hair and clothes and another hour of preparations for an interview that took twenty minutes to shoot and will turn out to be only three minutes on air. It’s a maddening thought that makes Adam want to slam the door so he does. 

“Yo,” Tommy says and waves without turning around to look at Adam. “What’s up?” 

“I’m fucking tired,” Adam says. He toes off his shoes and takes off his jacket, tossing it on the bed. If Tommy weren’t here he’d get completely naked just to get out of interview mode and be able to relax. This way he’ll stay wired for hours to come and he’s inexplicably mad at Tommy for that. 

He flops down on the bed and sprawls out, eyes closed for a moment, willing himself to reason. Tommy makes a sound like a mix between a laugh and a snort, and then turns to peek at Adam, arm on the upholstery. 

“You smell like an entire bottle of hairspray.” He scrunches up his nose and takes another sip from his beer and Adam groans. 

“And you smell like you haven’t showered in days,” he snaps and rolls onto his feet again. Tommy doesn’t; Tommy always smells perfect despite his dislike of aftershave and perfume. He smells like Dirty (Lush, fresh and crisp) mostly because Adam bought him a huge a chunk when they were in London. It has and still gives Adam satisfaction whenever he catches a whiff of it, knowing that Tommy is using the soap he chose. It’s like marking he’s Tommy, only not because Adam has no right to. 

Tommy’s face falls a little and he unconsciously turns and presses his nose against his shoulder, sniffing, brows furrowing before he takes another swig from his beer. He gives Adam a look and then turns back to the TV, shoulders hunched. 

Adam stares at the back of his head for a moment, then strides past him into the bathroom and locks the door. He strips and gets in the shower and washes the day off - makeup and hairspray and stress. When he steps back outside in a lush white bathrobe, Tommy is cleaning up the mess of beer bottles and chips on the table, the TV on mute. 

“Are you leaving?” Adam asks dumbly, stopping by the doorframe.

Tommy nods without looking up. “Yeah, I mean. You’re obviously not in the mood for company.” 

“I’m sorry,” Adam blurts out. “I’m just- this day was so weird.” He smiles a little. “Plus, you don’t stink, really. I don’t stink _anymore_. We mix well.” 

Tommy shrugs and hums, finishes putting the bottles in a bag. “What’re you suggesting? Wanna get hammered?” 

Adam has thought about that. Thought about getting fucking smashed and find a boy and fuck his brains out. If Tommy tags along he won’t - can’t - do that. But drunk Tommy is pliant and clingy and god, Adam hasn’t had clingy, pliant Tommy in months. 

“Fuck yeah,” he says and grins as Tommy looks up. 

 

*

 

Adam can’t go anywhere anymore without someone recognizing him; even a touring break as long as he took one can’t prevent that. Not that Adam’s complaining. But it means he needs to dress appropriately and put on makeup again and steel himself. 

Washington is a big fucking city, and Adam decides on a small bar downtown, something posh and with dim lighting and expensive drinks so he can feel a little in control when they’re ushered in through the back entrance and he tells the bartender that all of Tommy’s drinks are on him. 

“I can pay for myself,” Tommy says and sits on one of the tall, black stools, thighs splayed, heels hooked behind the legs; Adam stands next to the bar and orders gin & tonic for himself, trying not to stare. Tommy leans over before he can order for him, too, and tells the bartender to bring him a Corona and a double shot of single malt. 

“I want to,” Adam simply says and can’t help but reach out and squeeze Tommy’s knee; it’s right there, a slice of skin poking out through the threadbare jeans. 

He feels Tommy sigh and lets go. “Thanks.” He knows Tommy’s agreeing because he doesn’t want to argue - it’s a trait that Adam takes advantage of way too often. 

Their drinks arrive and they clink glasses; Tommy downs his whiskey and moves on to the beer without pausing, lashing fluttering against his cheeks for a moment. His eyes are all coal again; it makes his irises pop and Adam’s throat tight. 

“What?” Tommy tilts his head and grins, lips pressed against the mouth of his bottle. 

Adam shakes his head, caught, and smiles back. “Nothing. Just- nostalgia.” It’s mostly true; nostalgia includes having been able to press his lips to Tommy’s and grope his ass on stage because it was controversial. He doesn’t know what it’d be now other than completely obvious and desperate. 

Tommy has no clue. “Yeah, touring again is weird. Even like this.” He shrugs and sighs. 

“I’m glad you’re here, though,” Adam says, brain to mouth filter apparently loose. 

“Fucking ecstatic, man.” Tommy raises his bottle and they toast again. Adam wants to smack him (or himself) because what about “I want to go on a date with you” and “I’m glad you’re here” doesn’t Tommy understand? But that’s not a conversation for a public place, a bar no less, so Adam decides to fuck the gin and move on to tequila. 

They get plastered rather quickly and as Adam’s barricades fall and Tommy’s laugh gets more open, the fans dare come closer and soon they’re flocked by a small group of - objectively pretty - girls whose necklines are so low Adam thinks they could’ve come in in bikinis just as well. Tommy’s all round-eyed and flirty and touchy, leaning in to conversations and whispering into ears. 

Adam chats with them, too, amicably, signs their credit cards and phones - sharpie always, always present - but decides he’s had enough - Tommy’s had enough for Christ’s sake - when a slender spray-tanned hand find its place undisturbed on Tommy’s thigh where Adam’s fingers rested before. 

“Girls, you’re all fabulous,” he cheers and turns to the bartender, “a round on me for these wonderful ladies.”

They erupt in shrill thank you’s and Adam used the distraction to carefully push between Tommy and his pretty, no-need-for-personal-space blonde, sliding his arm around his waist. 

“We gotta go! Early flight tomorrow. Have a fun night, y’all.” He gives them his best smile and tugs, urging Tommy off the stool; he gets a weird look for that but doesn’t give a shit right now. If Tommy gets laid tonight and Adam doesn’t, not even with some meaningless pretty twink, then the universe can go fuck itself. 

He pays in cash and ushers Tommy out, who by the time Adam’s hailing a cab looks sour enough to make Adam actually feel sorry. 

“What the fuck,” Tommy hisses when they’re in the car and out of earshot. “What the _fuck_.” 

Adam stays very quiet for a few moments, not sure how to explain himself. “I told you,” he finally says, hoping that Tommy will get it. His head is dizzy and maybe that was a little too much tequila after all. 

“Fuck,” Tommy says and lets his head drop against the seat. “Fuck, Adam.” 

“The point,” Adam chuckles and then bites his lip. 

“I figured.” Tommy sucks the inside of his mouth and fixates Adam with one of those stares that tell him that he’s actually mad now. 

“Did you wanna fuck her then?” Adam bites out and regrets it the moment he says it; he’s not supposed to be jealous and he’s even less supposed to let Tommy know that he is. It’s the alcohol and everything else. 

Tommy keeps staring at him and then says, “See, this is exactly why we shouldn’t date.”

Adam opens and closes his mouth, surprised and admittedly hurt. “Why, because I wouldn’t want you to fuck other people?” 

“Because you think I would.” Tommy turns away and Adam thinks, _oh_. “I like what we have.” Then more quietly, but with force. “Would you risk it?” 

They round the block to their hotel and Adam’s mind is frantically, drunkenly racing after something to say that will explain everything, but then the car stops and Tommy leans forward and pays the driver, getting out of the car without waiting for Adam to follow. 

Fuck, Adam thinks. 

 

*

 

They’re on their flight to Hartfort the next morning at six a.m. and Adam is so hungover he thinks he’s going to puke all over the sleeping businessman in the seat in front of him; Tommy’s sleeping, tightly curled up into a thick blanket, face hidden by his hair. He’s got his earphones in and even if Adam woke him, he probably wouldn’t hear a thing of what Adam has to say to him. 

He manages an hour of sleep on the plane and then another hour on the drive to the hotel and thinks he sounds pretty fucking incredible considering he’s only slept three hours, plus two. The schedule is insane and Adam forgets all about dating and misunderstandings and Tommy’s mouth, even though he’s right there, right next to him the entire time, because his sleep-muddled mind cannot process too much at once and each of these promo dates is like a heartbeat. 

They drive to their next location - Springfield - after the last gig sometime at nine, and Adam falls asleep in the car and wakes only when they stop in front of the hotel. 

“Hey,” he says to Tommy in the elevator, blinking, slowly waking up. He doesn’t know what else to say and hopes that Tommy will understand anyway.

“Hey,” Tommy replies and looks up at him; his eyes are tired and what little eyeliner he was wearing before is now all smudged. “Let’s watch a movie?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, heart flaring up a little. “Let’s do that. You choose. I’ll even put up with your horror shit.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head, smiling. “Fucking awesome. I brought Cloverfield.”Adam groans a little. “Or-” The elevator doors ding open. “Zombie Strippers. Your choice.” 

They step outside and Adam fumbles for his keycard. “Cloverfield it is then.”

 

*

 

Adam falls asleep halfway through the movie and wakes caged between the back of the couch and Tommy who’s sleeping with his back pressed to Adam’s chest, the menu of the DVD throwing green and blue lights into the darkness of the room. 

He tries to shift a little, back stiff, arm numb from where Tommy’s head is resting on it, and god, this moment is beautiful, his mind can comprehend that, but he’s also in pain. Tommy mumbles a little and simply pushes closer and Adam closes his eyes, holding his breath, one, two, seven, fifteen seconds. 

“Tommy,” he says softly and moves his free hand to rub his shoulder. “Tommy.” 

“Uhn,” Tommy says but doesn’t wake. 

“Tommy, I will lose my arm.” Tommy’s hair is close and Adam can’t resist. He leans in and presses his nose against it, inhaling. 

“Ngh,” Tommy makes, and then, “Are you smelling my hair?”

Well. No point denying. “Kinda.” He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder and moves away as far as possible. “My arm? Can I have it back?” 

Tommy chuckles a bit, but lifts his head and then finally shifts to put his feet on the floor. “God, my head hurts.” He gets up and pads to the bathroom, then returns three minutes later, hair sticking up. 

Adam stretches a little, blinking up at him, then reaches out to him because it feels like the right thing to do. There’s hesitation in the way Tommy moves; Adam can’t see his face, body backlit, but he does come back to the sofa, slumping down again. Adam wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him in until they’re back to chest again. 

Tommy stays completely still for a while and Adam thinks he’s going to freak out, thinks that’s it, mission abort, abort!, but then Tommy turns in his arms and suddenly they’re eye to eye, nose to nose and mouth to mouth, and Adam can smell the toothpaste on Tommy’s breath because Tommy just brushed his teeth as though he’s expecting Adam to kiss him. 

Fuck it, Adam thinks and leans in, pressing their lips together. Tommy exhales into his mouth, relief almost, and opens up, tongue meeting Adam’s. It’s electric and Adam has almost forgotten how kissing Tommy feels like, the exquisite dichotomy between the softness of his lips and the sharpness of his day-old stubble. Adam licks into his mouth and bites at his lower lip, sliding one hand up to his hair to keep him right there, to make sure he can’t bolt. 

If the way Tommy starts making little noises and kisses back eagerly, licking and biting back, hand tightening on Adam’s arm, is any indication then Adam is not only doing something very right, but Tommy is thoroughly enjoying this. 

They’re aligned lips to toes, and when they pull apart Adam is half-hard hard and panting. He leans in and licks a little spit off Tommy’s lower lip, then bites down again rocking against him because he can’t help himself. Tommy’s cock, so hard, is pressing eagerly against Adam’s thigh, and Adam kisses down over his jaw and neck to leave a mark that he’ll be able to find again later. 

“Ah,” Tommy makes and shifts against him, then tugs at his arm and rolls them over until Adam is on top and Tommy’s thighs fit around his hips snugly. 

“Yeah,” he grinds out and rocks down, their erection pressed together through the fabric of both their jeans. Tommy makes a little sound and Adam needs more of those so he braces himself on one hand next to Tommy’s head and reaches down between them to press the flat of his hand over Tommy’s rock-hard cock and rub; he can feel his jeans get tighter and grins down at him, breathing hard. 

Tommy pushes up into his hand, mouth slack and eyes half-lidded, and every time Adam presses his palm down a little harder Tommy makes another one of those sounds in the back of his throat, almost as though he’s begging without words. 

Adam grunts and keeps going, then feels Tommy’s dick start twitching, the fabric getting a little moist, and pulls away. Tommy whines at that and his eyes fly open to glare at Adam. 

“You-” he starts but Adam leans down and kisses him again, carefully nipping at his lips, bringing him down a little, because he wants this to last and he wants more than a dirty rut on the couch. He uses forefinger and thumb to unhook the button on Tommy’s jeans and push the zipper down and reaches inside to stroke the head of his dick through his briefs. 

Tommy makes a strangled noise, hips coming off the couch and Adam stops again, sitting back to undo his pants and push them off a little awkwardly; Tommy stays, chest rising and falling rapidly and Adam leans in and bites his jean-clothed thigh. That garners a reaction. 

“Take them off,” Tommy says before Adam has even pulled back. “Fuck-” 

Adam exhales sharply, dick twitching at the sound and the tone of Tommy’s voices and hooks his fingers in the waistband of his jeans and briefs, pulling them both down and over his legs, tossing them god knows where. 

“Oh,” he says then and rests his mouth against Tommy’s thigh, staring at him; his cock is hard and wet and pink, pale like the rest of him, the head blooming with a little more color. Tommy’s face is all flushed now and Adam swallows tightly, trailing his fingers up the soft skin of Tommy’s other thigh. 

“Like what you see?” Tommy asks and wiggles out of his T-shirt and then very unceremoniously hooks his left leg over the back of the couch, Adam’s hand sliding off as he bares himself. Adam’s mouth goes a little dry and he kisses down towards the crease of Tommy’s thigh, only pulling back to strip off his shirt. 

Tommy keeps watching him, licking his lips, throat working as he swallows, and suddenly Adam feels himself stopping, tightening his his hold on Tommy’s hip. 

“Are you- really?” He can’t believe he’s asking this when he’s got Tommy naked and all spread out and hard for him right there. 

“Adam,” Tommy says and shifts his hips up, and yeah, he thought so. Adam closes the distance and presses his lips to the head of Tommy’s cock, sucking lightly. He tastes fucking amazing, moss and something sharp and sweet and Adam relaxes his throat and takes him all the way in, working him gently, rolling his balls between his fingers until he feels them tightening. Tommy moans again, hips pushing off the couch, and Adam pulls back and off, losing contact, but still squeezing his thigh. 

“Not yet,” he says and reaches down to adjust himself; he’s so hard it hurts, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to last an embarrassing amount of time. But-

“Not yet,” Tommy repeats and lets out a little strangled, desperate whine. “Then- god, Adam please do something-” 

Adam crawls up his body against and presses them together, holding Tommy’s hips down with one hand so he can’t rock up and spoil the moment; Tommy leans up and licks into his mouth, licks Adam’s fucking lips, moaning, and Adam can’t believe this is happening, that Tommy is kissing his own taste out of Adam’s mouth. 

“I want to fuck you,” he groans and rotates his hips a little and Tommy moans at that too. 

“Yeah, just- do it soon, okay.” He lets out a little laugh and Adam is on his feet and at his bag in approximately two seconds, probably looking ridiculous sprinting in his purple briefs, cock curving hard against the fabric. He grabs the lube and condoms and somehow manages to get out of his underwear on the way back to couch. 

“Stop that,” he says thickly when he sees Tommy touching himself because he wants Tommy to come with him and for him; he climbs back on top of him and Tommy gives him a look, brow raised, but does as he’s told, and that alone is so sexy, Adam can’t quite comprehend it. 

“Bossy,” Tommy says and shifts his hips up a little and up until his thigh is somewhere next to his shoulder, foot flat on the back of the couch. 

Adam can’t quite formulate a good answer to that; Tommy’s naked thigh is pressing against his dick and when he looks down he can see everything. “I want you so much,” he says dumbly and digs his fingers into Tommy’s other thigh, forcing him to open up completely. Tommy complies, suddenly quiet again except for his laboured breathing, cock hard against his abdomen. 

Adam fumbles with the lube and manages to squeeze some out, more than he’ll probably need, and coats his fingers. He pushes one against Tommy’s hole, but Tommy whines and rocks his hips up.

“Do two,” he pants. “I can take it.” 

Adam doesn’t question that; his blood is rushing in his ears and if he can’t have Tommy right about now, then he’ll probably go insane. He’s perfectly fine with quick and rough if Tommy wants to play this way. He adds another finger, forcing past the resistance, and starts fucking him with them, angling them down a little and Tommy’s body jerks, hand curling around a pillow. 

“Ah,” he makes and then again and Adam speeds up, scissoring them, knowing that he’s probably going too fast, but Tommy’s moaning and responsive, and he adds a third just for good measure. 

“Fuck,” Tommy breathes out and Adam pushes them all the way in, holding them there for a moment and then pulls out. 

“I need to-” he grits out and tries to rip the condom wrapper open, but his hands are just too damn slippery. Tommy sits up and takes it from him, carefully prying it open. Adam stills and sits back on his heels and Tommy leans forward, bent in half - flexible, good to know, Adam thinks - and licks the tip of Adam’s erection, then rolls the condom on, looking up at Adam with the most intense fuck-me look Adam has ever seen. 

He reaches down and digs his fingers into Tommy’s hair and jerks his head back, forcing him back down, and Tommy goes all limp, curving up against him when he aligns himself with one hand and pushes in. 

It’s too tight and Adam can’t breathe and Tommy stills completely, nails leaving sharp half-moons in Adam’s shoulder after he’s pressed the head in and the rest slides in all the way. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groans and rocks his hips a little just to get Tommy used to it, tightening his hand in his hair. 

“Your fucking dick-” Tommy’s chest is going up and down as though he’s having a panic attack, but his cock is hot against Adam’s stomach.

“You like my fucking dick?” he asks and leans down to lick Tommy’s nipple, fingers curling in Tommy’s hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat, as he starts moving, hips undulating into tiny thrusts; Tommy’s still so tight it’s almost painful and any more and Adam will probably come like a fourteen-year-old. He makes a desperate sound and bites Tommy’s throat, leaving the skin red. 

“Yeah.” Tommy moans. “Yeah. I like it.” When Adam looks up again he’s biting his lip, one hand on his hip, the other on Adam’s arm, and Adam remembers that he told him not to touch himself. The fact that Tommy is still sticking to that breaks a little something inside Adam and he snaps his hips hard, finding a rhythm that matches Tommy’s thrusts upwards.

“Yeah, fuck me-” Tommy meets his gaze, the flush spreading from his cheeks over his shoulders and chest, and Adam speeds up, moaning, thrusting deep and fast. He shifts a little, midthrust, and changes the angle and then Tommy’s mouth falls open with an almost-yelp, eyes wide, and Adam knows he’s hit the right spot, and he thrusts in again and again until Tommy is blurting words and sounds, riding back hard. 

His body starts tightening around Adam’s dick and his grip on Adam’s arm tightens, too, and he comes spurting all over his chest. Adam feels heat spread out from the small of his back, over his hips and down to his cock, and then his orgasm hits him like an anchor to the head, fast and mind-blowing, his hips moving on their own, fucking Tommy through it. 

It takes a moment or two to regain his vision, and then then he can’t hold himself up anymore and slips out, tossing the condom on the floor, finally collapsing on top of Tommy, their sweat mingling. Adam kisses him, open and sweet, and pulls him close, but Tommy doesn’t seem to be the cuddling type. He pushes at Adam’s shoulders and then sits up when Adam lets him, frowning. Adam grunts, not happy, wanting to enjoy the afterglow a little, body all relaxed and warm and boneless. 

“I- we should shower,” Tommy says and rolls onto his feet, long body stretching and Adam follows because, yeah. Showering with Tommy sounds fucking great, he’s not going to argue with that. 

They clean up, quickly and with a lot less groping than Adam had hoped, and curl up together in Adam’s kingsize bed. It’s only moments before he falls asleep, that Adam realizes that Tommy has not in any way given him a definite answer to anything yet. 

 

*

 

In the car to Worcester at seven in the morning, Adam finds himself to be a lot less euphoric. He’s tired and Tommy is asleep again, unaware and unaffected, and then after their show in Worcester Adam finally snaps. 

They’re on their way out of the venue, back entrance and no fans in sight, and Adam grabs Tommy’s arm and whirls him around, for a moment forgetting his own strength and Tommy’s weight, so easily hauled around. 

“Wha-” Tommy starts, then shrugs Adam’s hand off and pushes his hair back with his sunglasses to look at Adam . 

“Enlighten me,” Adam interrupts. “About yesterday and everything else.” 

Tommy blinks and tilts his head a little, then bites his lip. “I don’t know,” he says, but his face tells Adam that he’s right back in the game and knows what Adam’s talking about. “I mean, it felt pretty fucking right to me.” 

Yeah, Adam thinks, it did. “So?” 

“Nothing,” Tommy says and then stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I guess, I don’t want regrets either.” He meets Adam’s gaze at that and smiles a little and Adam thinks he’s going to explode into confetti and glitter. 

“No regrets,” he echoes. 

Tommy waves his hand and puts his sunglasses back on. “Just. I like laughing with you and that you just get me like nobody else and I like being in your band and I like it that you’re my boss. But I also like your hands on me.”

Adam grins. “We can arrange for my hands to be on you twenty-four-seven.” He knows he’s missing the point but he’s starting to feel a little light-headed. He hooks his thumb into his belt-loop and tries to read Tommy’s face despite the shades. “I know. Me too. I don’t want to mess this up.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “This is the most fantastic thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Adam looks at him for a long moment, at the arch of his neck and the curve of his lips, at his hair all messed up and perfect, at the line of his collarbone, and then reaches out and snatches his sunglasses away. 

“Ditto,” he says, but in this moment what he means is not the fame and the glamor, but the way Tommy’s honey eyes widen when Adam leans in to kiss him. 

“No missed chances,” he mumbles against Tommy’s lips; Tommy presses closer and Adam doesn’t need any verbal agreement with the way that Tommy’s kissing him back.

***


End file.
